Harry Potter and the Founder's Legacy
by Distorted Pheonix
Summary: Voldemort kidnaps Ron and tortures him for an unknown reason, making all of Britain dream about it when they sleep. A broken Ravenclaw, a fallen Hufflepuff, and a tormented Slytherin join forces with Harry in an unexpected way.
1. The Prophecy

One faithful to wield sword of Gryffindor

One vindictive to fire bow of Ravenclaw

One revived to guide staff of Hufflepuff

One withholding to hide dagger of Slytherin

One to connect all unfastened ends

And One to bear the Ring  
  



	2. The Dark is Rising

Crimson eyes focused sharply on the prostate man before him, sinister plans brewing within his mind. Gaunt fingers tapped the arm of the chair thoughtfully. The slit that passed for his mouth opened, hissing syllables issuing forth.

"Dear Nagini, do you believe him?"

A python curled around the top of the chair slides her pointed head into her master's lap.

"Yes, my Lord, I do."

The ends of the slit curl up slightly, and the...man nods gravely.

"Very well then. Pettigrew!"

The prostate form snaps its head up, revealing a man with silver eyes full of fear.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"It is certain that his friends will be a part of it." A lip curls in a sneer. "The Mudblood and the Weasley. You cannot take Potter, nor kill him for the time being. Dumbledore has him too well protected. The Mudblood is in Bulgaria, and unattainable. Secure the Weasley boy, but do not kill him. Potter will come for him, and when he does..."

A haunting laugh begins to echo throughout the bowels of the room, chasing the man with the silver eyes to match the silver arm at his side.


	3. The Forgotten Dream

A searing pain awoke Harry from the nightmare, causing him to bolt upright, clutching his scar. A moment more of the agony, and then the pain is gone, only a slight twinge to tell it was ever there. Slowly pulling his hand from his forehead, the youth examines it as if the palm holds all the answers. 

Able to think clearly now, Harry turns his attention from the pain to the dream, furiously trying to recall its events. Something about him and something about Ron. It was important, he knew, but he couldn't grasp it, though the events flitted around at the top of his brain. 

"Shit!" Whatever it was, it was bad, that much was for certain. Removing himself from the threadbare sheets, a hand runs through the wild mop of hair on top of his head as he reached for a sheet of parchment and a quill. Ron needed to be warned, because whatever Voldemort was planning, it wasn't good.

  
  


Ron-

  
  


I had a dream last night, a dream about Voldemort. I can't remember most of it, but I do remember he was talking about me...and you. Be careful, Ron, be very careful. Whatever he was talking about us for, it wasn't to throw us a tea party.

-Harry

  
  


Rolling it up, the sleepy youth tied it to the leg of an even sleepier Hedwig, who hooted at him in a somewhat vexed tone.

"Sorry girl, but its important. It is to the Burrow though, and you know they'll insist on stuffing you, better than I can feed you here."

Ruffled feathers smooth as she gazes unblinkingly at him, launching into the night air as soon as Harry wrestled open the window. For a moment, brilliant green eyes follow the rapidly vanishing speck, before turning back to the bed, suddenly exhausted. Not even bothering to shut the window, the youth stumbles back into bed, tugging the meager covers over his head.


	4. A Perfect Present

Ron browsed the shops in Diagon Alley anxiously, desperately searching for Harry's present. Today was the thirtieth, meaning he had to get it today, and send it as well. It wasn't that he'd forgotten Harry's birthday. He just...hadn't remembered. 

So far, none of the shops had contained anything that Harry would like. There was the broomstick service kit in Quality Quidditch Supplies, but Hermione had gotten him one of those a couple of years ago. Harry had already read all the books on Quidditch that Flourish and Blotts had in stock. 

That's where he was now, Flourish and Blotts, looking in disdain at their tiny section over Quidditch. Taking a step back to see if there was anything else, the youth stepped straight into another bookshelf. It swayed dangerously, threatening to spill its contents and Ron grabbed its supports, stopping the motion. Breathing a sigh of relief, he let go.

Only to have a book smack him right on the head, sending both him and it toppling to the ground. A hand reaches up to rub the sore spot while mahogany eyes focus on the book angrily. It had fallen open to the center, revealing a photo of a man with black hair and glasses smiling proudly in graduation robes.

Ron blinked. The man looked a lot like Harry. Forgetting the damage it had caused, he snatched it up, reading the caption beneath the photo.

'James Potter in his formal graduation photo.'

Slamming the book shut, Ron looked at the cover, his eyes feasting upon the title.

James and Lily Potter: The People Behind the Boy Who Lived.

A grin splits the youth's face and he scrambles to his feet. Taking his prize over to the cash register, he hands over the 3 sickles for it only a trifle reluctantly. 

Ten minutes later Ron was strolling through the street, searching for the twins. Mrs. Weasley had made them come with him since she knew of the rise of the Dark Lord. She'd made them promise to stay with Ron, and true to their word, they'd stayed with Ron - for a whole two minutes. Then it was off to check out the joke shop.

It didn't bother their younger sibling though. For once, he had a chance to be alone, despite the hundreds of wizards that milled in the street. For once, no one wanted him for anything, and the youth basked in the feeling, drawing it in as one draws in the noonday sun. 

Because of his state of indifference to the world, the boy hadn't watched where his wandering led him. A shiver of fear runs down his spine as his eyes catch hold of a sign swinging noisily in the breeze. Borgin and Burkes, it said.

This was Knockturn Alley.

As much as he'd always said he wanted to visit here, Ron found himself slowly backing away. Turning rapidly, the lanky form began making its way back to Diagon Alley. 

His strides took him past the dark alley that separated the two worlds and such was his agitation that he never noticed the man materialize behind him. The man's silver eyes focused on the red locks and, raising a cedar wand in a silver hand, he muttered the word 'stupefy' under his breath.

Grabbing the inert body, he Apparated away, leaving the book, fallen from the boy's hands, lying open on the pavement.


	5. A Letter and A Search

Molly Weasley was preparing lunch when the snow white owl swooped in the window. Recognizing it as Harry's she took the letter from it's leg and placed it on the table and proceeded to feed the bird. In the process of stuffing Hedwig, she happened a glance at the grandfather clock. A loud scream tore throughout the Burrow.

Ron's hand was in the vertical position, pointing to 'mortal peril'.

Ginny, Percy, and Bill raced down the stairs to find their mother with tears running down her face, pointing at the clock. Ginny gave a whimper and buried herself in Percy's chest, who was so shocked that all he could do was stare. Bill, who was in England to check back in with Gringotts, stood for a moment too before regaining his wits and strode with grim determination over to Mrs. Weasley. 

"Mum, where was he? Where did he and the twins go?"

"D-D-Diagon A-Alley" The short woman was jerked from her hysteria by her much taller son dragging her over to the Floo jar, knowing his mother was in no condition to Apparate. Giving her a pinch of the powder, the woman took it numbly and stepped into the fireplace, shouting her destination out of habit.

"Perce, call Dad at the Ministry and tell him what's happened. Ginny, stay with Percy." With that, he Apparated.

Percy shook off his shock and guided his still sobbing sister to the table. Heading to the opposite wall, he stuck his head into the fire and into his father's office fire.

"Dad!"

Arthur Weasley had been napping with his pen in his hand and his head on the desk. There had been so much lately with the rise of the Dark Lord that everyone knew unofficially what had happened, even if Fudge was still being stubborn about declaring it officially. Forced to work at night sometimes too, he had been so tired that he had fallen asleep.

"Huh? Wha?"

Gazing around blearily, the head of Percy was located in the fireplace. Rubbing his eyes, the man got up and stumbled over to the fireplace.

"Dad, the grandfather clock! Ron's hand, it's- hold on a second, Ginny wants me."

Through her tears, the girl's hand had unintentionally brushed the envelope Hedwig had delivered. Seeing who it was addressed to, Ginny had ripped it open and read. Her hand tightened convulsively and she began screaming for her brother.

Mr. Weasley was about to fall asleep against the wall when his son's head reappeared.

"Ginny found this letter from Harry to Ron. It sa-"

"Wait. Percy, where is Ron's hand?"

"Oh, right. It's at 'mortal peril'."

Now the man was wide awake, and beginning to panic.

"And the letter, what does the letter say?"

"Dad..." His voice cracked. "It says that Harry had a dream about You-Know-Who. It says that...that...that You-Know-Who was planning on kidnapping Ron! In the dream, of course, but still..."

Mr. Weasley paled and Apparated out of his office into the Minister's office.

"My son is missing and I'm leaving for an unknown period of time to search for him."

The Minister was in the middle of making a protest when Arthur disappeared again.

Fred and George were in Quality Quidditch Supplies, gawking at the Firebolt when Bill and their mother burst in. The twins' bright smiles faded as they saw his emotionless face and her tearstreaked one. 

"Uh oh."

"I think we're in trouble."

"Where's Ron?"

Bill's tone contrasted sharply with his face, full of worry and panic. The twins looked at each other and shrugged.

"He took off right after we got here."

"Something about buying a present for Harry"

At this, their mother forgot her tears and swelled up, her eyes flashing in anger. The twins cowered, knowing something was wrong, for her to be crying and yelling from one moment to the next.

"I TOLD YOU TO STAY WITH HIM, BUT NO! YOU HAD TO LET HIM GO OFF ON HIS OWN, DESPITE THE FACT THAT YOU KNOW THAT THE DARK LORD HAS RISEN. YOU DON'T THINK ABOUT WHAT MIGHT HAPPEN TO YOUR DEAR BROTHER, ONLY ENTERTAINMENT FOR YOURSELVES! WHY, I OUGHT TO...OUGHT TO...ought to..."

With that, she breaks down again. The sudden mood swings prompts George to turn to his older sibling. Bill's face was pale and he was looking around desperately.

"Bill? What's wrong? Why is Mum like this? Why are you two here?"

Bill swallowed and spoke, tone frank and straightforward.

"Ron's hand on the grandfather clock is at 'mortal peril'."

"Oh."

Arthur Weasley arrived then, Apparating outside on the street. Glancing around, he spied the rest of his family through the window and came in. Pulling his wife into an embrace, he spoke quietly to all of them.

"I've alerted the Ministry. They're sending out search teams to scour the streets and shops. All we can do now is go home and wait."


	6. Tears of Innocence

Harry paced by his window anxiously on his birthday, waiting for the arrival of Hedwig from the Weasleys'. Hermione's present had already arrived, as had Sirius's and Hagrid's. Hermione had picked out a protective case for his Firebolt with help from Viktor Krum and he had unwrapped a Truth Orb from Sirius. He wasn't quite sure what that was, but figured Hermione would explain it to him. Hagrid had sent him the usual treacle fudge, though it had a happy face of icing on the top. 

The youth was more concerned about Ron though. Hedwig hadn't come back yet from the Weasley's and Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He was effectively cut off from the wizarding world at the Dursleys'. Having no idea of what might have happened, a sigh of relief was taken as the emerald orbs spotted his snow white owl winging towards the house in the night sky. 

Hedwig swooped in and dropped her parcel neatly on the bed, hopping to the young man's arm in order for a treat. He gave it to her, in form of a grape, and put her gently onto her perch, where more fruits awaited her. Turning to the gift, Harry opened first the letter, too preoccupied with relief to notice that the name on the envelope wasn't written in Ron's usual scrawl. 

  
  


Dear Harry,

  
  


Your letter arrived...too late, we are afraid. Ron has been taken, by who or what, we do not know for sure, but must assume from your letter that it is You-Know-Who. It happened yesterday, when he was in Diagon Alley, purchasing your birthday gift. The gift was discovered abandoned near Knockturn Alley. How we knew it was for you was obvious, as you soon will see, but we double checked and the shop owner had indeed sold it to Ron. The authorities confiscated the original as a possible source for leads, but we decided that you simply must have it, and so purchased a second copy.

  
  


Love, The Weasley Family

  
  


Harry read the letter twice, hoping that this was just a dream, that he would wake up and everything was fine. But it wasn't. Ron was gone, and it was his fault. He began to shake uncontrollably, hand clenching the letter tightly, knuckles gone white.

Slumping onto the bed, the youth choked back tears, rubbing his eyes under the black wire rims of his glasses. 'It is what Voldemort will want me to do. It is what I must not do.' Straightening, he turned to the gift, tears still burning at the back of his eyes. Ripping open the paper, he stared unbelievingly at the title of the book, troubles momentarily forgotten.

'James and Lily Potter: The People Behind the Boy Who Lived.'

Opening it slowly, Harry discovered a goldmine of information and photos on his parents, though a few details weren't mentioned, such as James's illegal Animagi form and why he did so. Most of the rest was there, from details on the Marauders and the entirety of the romance between the two. Even his nickname was there, though the reason for such an odd one wasn't provided. Wondering who could possibly know so much about his parents to write a book, trembling hands turned to the title page.

'By Remus Lupin'

The tears began to fall now, for his parent's deaths, for Sirius's wrongful imprisonment, for Remus's loss of everyone in one night, for his own mistreatment at the hands of the Dursleys. But most of all, he cried for Ron, for the kidnapping and who knows what else of a person whose only fault was being friends with the Boy Who Lived.


	7. And So It Begins

Present Time  
  


Bound to a chair, Ron stared stonily at the blank wall. When he'd woken up, this is where he had been, feet tied to the legs of the chair, arms contorted to be bound behind the back. Loose ropes encircled his torso as well as his legs, and a rag proved to be an effective gag. 

Judging from the absence of his shirt and his abraded skin, his unconscious form had been dragged quite a bit from place to place. Now the raw sores chafed against wood and rope, but that was obviously the least of his problems. Most immediate was the problem of why.

That was answered almost immediately as the door opened, spilling light onto the captive. Having sat in the dark for longer than he could count, it caused him to flinch and squint as the mahogany iris adjusted to the lantern. When they had, the youth could clearly discern two forms, one of Pettigrew, who held the light, and the other was...

Making an astonished sound through the rag, Ron shrank into the chair as much as he could, hoping to get away from it, knowing his attempts were futile even as the vile form of Voldemort grinned, revealing sharp teeth.

"Well, well, if it isn't Harry Potter's best friend. Have no concern over your predicament, all will be well when your friend comes to me."

At this, the boy's cedar eyes widened, head shaken in horror. 

"You doubt it? No, Potter will come. He would not let me kill his long time friend. He will come, and he will die, preventing the Order from existing. After all, the bearer of the Ring must be alive. But that, of course does not matter to you. You are here to feel pain, and for all of Britain to scream with you. Nocturna Vidento!"

As Ron watched, horrified, Voldemort brought his wand up, twin of Harry's, up to point at his bare chest. Shaking his head violently, as if he didn't believe this was happening, cedar eyes remained glued on the tip. 

"Crucio"

The boy's muffled screams through the gag, the straining of his entire gaunt form against the bonds, and the tears of pain that ran unchecked down his white cheeks continued long into the night, echoing over the streets of London.  


((I used a scene from the previous work I was doing because it worked out okay with a few minor changes. Nocturna Vidento loosely translated is 'They all see at night'. It's a spell to make everyone dream about it. I can't make my italics work, so that's why it isn't in the usual italics.))  



	8. Runaway

"By thy hand I forged thee, with thy magic I bind thee!" A sword darts toward his heart moments later and he dashes backwards, only to find himself falling from a cliff. Catching a hold of something, his tumble is halted and he looks up into the face of a woman, a bow slung cross her back. Her eyes switch suddenly from benign to sinister, and it is no longer a woman's face he peers into, but a man's, obsidian hair and emerald eyes somehow completely different from his own. The hand clenches around his wrist, nails digging into his skin. Dragging him roughly atop the ledge, two daggers suddenly fill the man's hand. And then, subtle changes of facial features and eyes of crystal blue tell him that it is no longer the same person. This man holds no weapon, but there is something about him that seems invincible all the same. It is no longer a man anymore, but a woman holding a staff who gives him a friendly clap on the back and begins to lead him somewhere. At the end of the journey she turns around, and it is no longer straight hair, but bushy that adorns her crown. Startled by the familiarity, he steps back again, off the cliff top once more. Down, down, down, he lands soundlessly in a room where the centerpiece is a man tied to the chair, obviously beaten and tortured. Despite his lowered head, a full beard is obvious. He looks up, and the resemblence to Ron is obvious. A moment passes, and then it is Ron, eyes focusing on him as none of the other people's had. 

'"I'm going to die here, Harry."

* * *

  
  


The youth jolts awake, eyes staring into the dark, every muscle tense, hands clenching the sweat drenched sheets. Only a moment passes before the stillness becomes a flurried activity as Harry begins to toss things into his trunk. Clothes, books, and various magical items fly through the air, some landing in the chest, some not. Only his Firebolt and his wand are left out. Sweeping up the objects that surround the trunk, the boy dumps them too into it, shutting the top with a satisfying click. Sending Hedwig out the window with a note for the Weasleys' asking shelter, he turns his wand on the trunk. Magic was being permitted this summer, because of the rise of the Dark Lord. 

"Parvus"

The entire thing shrinks until it is small enough to put in his pocket. Doing so, Harry leaves his room and silently exits the house, sparing no second glance for the house on Privet Drive. Mounting the broomstick, he pushes off, heading for the Burrow under the cover of early morning fog.

  
  


(A/N: I know, its really short, but I'm getting a case of writers block, and I will also have one out tomorrow which will be longer, simply because I will have more time to write it. Names, suggestions, anything is helpful, and I will give you credit.)


	9. An Informative Dream and An Ominous Poem

The sight of Platform 9 3/4 seemed a dim sight to the emerald eyes of Harry. The usual joy and hustle was overshadowed by the absence of a Hogwart's student, along with the knowledge that he was being held by Voldemort. That much was certain, now. Anyone who had any magic coursing through their veins heard the boy's screams every night in their dreams, watched his tears, felt his pain. It was the same dream for everyone, every night, but subtle differences lead the Aurors to believe that it was a new round of torture for Ron every night. Fudge refused to believe that Voldemort had once again risen to power, and had decided not to send the Aurors to find the boy, leaving it to the Bureau of Missing Magical Persons. All wizards, large or small, male or female, knew that this was the wrong decision, but Fudge stubbornly refused to budge on his position.

So Harry now looked with dread on what he had previously looked on with joy. All the students went about their business with vacant stares and dark circles under their eyes, mirror images of Harry's own. No one could sleep, not with that threatening every time they fell asleep. Especially not when they knew it was actually happening. 

Even Draco and his crew seemed somewhat subdued, though that may have been due to lack of sleep rather than the capture of Ron. Harry was with the entire Weasley family minus Ron to see Ginny and the twins as well as Harry off, their faces pale under crimson hair. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley's eyes were red from constant crying and the males of the family looked defeated and depressed. A lot like Harry himself.

The youth found the chamber where Hermione was, shuffling in. Her eyes, too, looked as if many tears had been shed. Harry had no doubt that his looked the same. The two exchanged a flash of understanding, but no greeting. There was no will to speak, not when everything was a lie.

A moment later, the chamber opened again. Harry looked up, unreasonably hopeful, knowing that it couldn't be Ron but thinking just maybe....

Rather than being who he hoped it might have been, Malfoy instead stood there. Oddly out of character, he spoke nothing, threw no insults at either of the two occupying the chamber. Ice blue eyes regard emerald warily, srutinizing him.

Harry blinked. 'Odd. Almost as if he's trying to decide something. I wonder what could be important enough to talk to me on nonhostile terms.'

He wasn't to find out though, as the youth suddenly spun on a heel and left, obviously having decided not to disclose his information. Sighing the youth leaned back, turning jade gaze to the window and burry scenery.

* * *

Draco Malfoy sat alone in a cabin, having banished Crabbe and Goyle. His cranium was literally pulsing with a migraine and all he could do was massage his temples with his fingers. The migraine wasn't natural. Sent by magic, it was a promise of much more pain to come should he choose to reveal his father's secret.

The boy had already almost told Harry what he knew, earlier. It wasn't that he cared about the Weasel, it was that he wanted to get some sleep. Those dreams were ten times worse when you heard real screams in the background.

So instead of sleeping, he'd prowled the Malfoy mansion at night, following the sounds of torture until he had found the right room. It had been a month now, plenty of time to find the room, but after he'd found it, the youth had decided not to do anything though. Why risk your life just to get some sleep? He'd probably be able to get some sleep at Hogwarts anyways. 

* * *

Bloody and bruised, beaten both physically and magically, a crimson topped head wearily drooped, taking advantage of the daytime to sleep.  


* *   


The train ride was long, too long for Harry's comfort without the familiar presence of his comrade. Emerald eyes slowly closed, and within moments, the youth fell easily into uneasy slumber.  
  
He was standing in a dungeon, half concealed by the flickering shadows. In the center of the room, the vermillion crown of a sleeping captive faced him, colorful form leaning heavily against the ties that bound him to the chair.

"Ron?"

The prisoner started, looking up. The mahogany eyes of Ron Weasley met those of Harry Potter. An involuntary step back was taken by the boy who lived, brought on by the haggardness of his face, skin taught against bones. A gag forced his jaw open, muffling his words, but Harry understood him perfectly. This was a dream, after all.

Brown searched jade, calm but accusing, a testimony to his strength. With startling suddenness, the youth's orbs flared in fury.

"YOU BLOODY GIT!!! Mr. I'm-So-Famous, I'm-Harry-Potter had to go and form something that endangers Voldemort! You! You put me here!" 

His pale faces flushes crimson, hiding the yellow bruises that blossom on cheek and eye. Startled at the sudden outburst, the other dreamer lost his own temper.

"Do you think I WANT you here?!? Do you think I wouldn't instantly dissolve a group that might kill Voldemort if it meant you got out of here?!? If you think not, you're more stupid than even I believed!"

As rapidly as the tempers flare, they cool, leaving the two in companionable but uncomfortable silence. Harry thinks of something and starts, now utterly confused.

"I haven't formed anything, Ron. How can Voldemort know that I formed something to kill him, if I haven't even formed something yet?"

"I don't know. But form it anyways. He's almost vaguely implied that I can be dead and still be in it. Don't ask me how."

"What? Dead!?"

Utterly serious gaze of the tortured catches that of the haunted.

"I'm going to die here, Harry."

Iris meet iris, acceptance and foresight written into them, but the obsidian crowned boy refuses to believe.

"No! You won't! I'll find you, I'll rescue you, you'll live! I know you will..."

"Harry - I'm going to die...."

  
  


* * *

Harry jolted awake, a cold sweat beading upon his brow. Realizing that his knuckles were gripping the side of the seat so hard it was white, he slowly relaxes the hold, watching as the ivory turns crimson. Hermione lies on the other bench, fitfully asleep, though as heavily as one could these days. The youth rises to stretch, only to be thrown back into the seat as the train comes to a stop. Waking Hermione, the two set off to meet up with the other fifth years.

Eventually the two arrive at the castle, setting off for the Great Hall. The ceiling has its usual spectacular display, but the companions pay no attention, mood dismal despite the arrival of school. Even Dumbledore, seated at the staff table as usual, wore no smile, no hint of joy.

The first years stumbled nervously up to the front, where Professor McGonagall and the Sorting Hat waited. They looked nervously at one another as the Hat began its rhyme.  
  


If it's a thinking hat you want,  
  


Then it's a thinking hat you'll get  
  


For I'm the smartest thinking hat  
  


That you have ever met.  
  


Just put me on your head,  
  


You'll see, I'll tell where you belong  
  


Don't doubt me, I know who's who  
  


And I've never yet been wrong.  
  


Put away your differences   
  


If you are brave at heart  
  


Or your stubbornness and grudge  
  


Will make a fool's quest from the start.  
  


Those who hold such traits  
  


No doubt belong in Gryffindor  
  


Whose valor, strength, and honesty  
  


Are no less than said in lore.  
  


Should you be dubbed as clever  
  


And in Ravenclaw be placed,  
  


Don't forget - you're human too  
  


Allow the grief to come to face  
  


Loyalty was valued  
  


By the witch called Hufflepuff  
  


And one fallen will rise again  
  


To call the evil's bluff  
  


A Slytherins ambition   
  


Is the basis of their code  
  


But its high time, by now, I think  
  


For one's true colors to be showed.  
  


To with hold information  
  


Is nothing new to you  
  


But too long with held, be careful  
  


Because you might tumble too.  
  


And now you know the places  
  


Where your new life will begin  
  


So put me on and I will tell you  
  


Which house your spirit lies within.

  


All of Hogwarts was staring at the Hat now, most students shifting uncomfortably while the staff exchanged bewildered looks. Never before had the Hat sung such a foreboding song, or so personalized. Harry ignored it though, despite a small voice in the back of his mind insisting it was right. Who among the Gryffindors would ever willingly unite with a Slytherin?

Everyone payed no attention to the children being sorted, whispering among themselves about the song, and wondering if it pertained to them.

* * *

Cho Chang ate mechanically, her stoic face chewing and swallowing automatically. Everyone had expedcted her to break down when Cedric died, and she nearly had. But the young woman was determined to show she was made of tougher stuff than what everyone thought and had refused to react.

Of all the Ravenclaws, she alone knew whom the Sorting Hat spoke of. And she supposed that maybe she should cry, maybe it would take the edge off the still sharp grief. But she refused to do it in front of anyone who wouldn't understand, and as there wasn't anyone who did, she had to keep her emotions to herself.

* * *

From the shadows, someone not alive and not dead shivered as the Sorting Hat's words entered his hearing. He was planning on staying away from all the students during the year, but there was one student he must follow, on Dumbledore's orders. But Dumbledore had never said that the student had to know he was there... 

  
  



	10. Another Ally?

As Harry finally ventured to peer up at the Head Table, his eyes settled upon the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. It was a woman, for the first time since Harry had been at Hogwarts. She wasn't old at all, appearing to have no more years than Sirius. Her black robes, while easily conforming to the uniform code, were cut in such a way that made it seem as if she had some sense of fashion. Wavy mahogany hair flowed down to the middle of her back, unfettered by any band or clip. Her face was full and soft, but silver eyes glinted behind her long lashes, leaving no doubt as to what her true personality was. She was talking animatedly with Professor Sprout.

At that moment, Dumbledore rose and tapped his glass. The room fell silent and the man spoke, gesturing to the new Professor.

"I would like you all to meet Professor Hanrahan. She is to be our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and is planning to stay for more than a year."

Some students laughed at this; they hadn't had a single DADA teacher for more than one term in a long time. The nervous tittering died down as those unnerving eyes glared sternly around the room. Everyone hurried to consume their food, which had just appeared before them. 

As plates laden with dinner became empty, the older students began to drift off to their respective dormitories. Only the prefects of each house were required to stay in order to lead the first years to their bedrooms; everyone else had leave to find their beds early. Hermione had to stay because of her new status, but Harry was free to go. The youth did so, the unbearable faces of the remaining Weasley's catching his vision every time he dared look up from his plate. 

Even the corridors themselves were full of pain for him, every sight reminding of the friend he was trying so hard to forget and yet desperate not to. Here was the hall where they discovered Ron's inkpot had broken in his bag and turned all his potion ingredients into black gook; here was the spot where Harry had stepped on a new trick of the twins', which caused not only his face to turn purple, but also the next person he touched, who happened to be Ron; here was where the staircases had changed on them and sent them into a room that turned out to hold paintings of nudes. They had all screamed and hid themselves behind the frame as the boy recalled, and had stayed there as the two blushing males removed themself from that particular enclave. 

Realizing he would be unable to find peace in the school right now, Harry headed for the forest and Hagrid's cabin, slinking through the shadows to avoid encounters with anyone else. Upon reaching it, his hand trembled as it rapped three times on the door then dropped to his side, as if it had lost all energy. The boy was beginning to wonder if the gamekeeper was even there when the door opened with a loud creak. Sad eyes were almost hidden in the voluminous beard, but they were visible enough to make out that he'd been crying too much lately.

"Harry? Is 'at you?" Hagrid's voice contradicted his face completely, calm and steady, quite uncharacteristic of the giant.

"Yeah, it's me. Can I come in?"

"Sure, why not?" The man stepped back, allowing the youth to enter. Eyes adjusting rapidly to the darkness, Harry leans against a wall rather than seating himself in one of the lumpy chairs. Hagrid, too, stood, as if to seat himself would be to make less grave the situation. An uncomfortable silence built, a tension caused by the absence of a comrade. The elder finally broke it, stating a rather unexpected statement for the youth.

"'t's not your fault, 'Arry"

Harry started, eyes refocusing sharply.

"I know that."

His words are a bit confused, as if he isn't quite sure why the other has brought this up. Instead of explaining himself, Hagrid repeats himelf.

"'t's not your fault."

"I know..."

This time Harry speaks as if he thinks Hagrid's mind may be going, but wisely, the opinion is kept to himself.

"'t's not your fault."

"I know!"

"'t's not your fault." 

"Will you stop saying that?!?"

"t's not your fault."

"Damn it, I KNOW!"

"'t's not your fault, 'Arry."

"I KNOW!"

The boy's fist slams down upon a nearby table and the dishes on it rattle from the force, but the gamekeeper doesn't react except to reach out a hand and place it on Harry's shoulder. With that simple gesture, the youth crumbles inward, all rage instantly gone and replaced by grief. Crying as well, Hagrid pulls him into an embrace.

For a long time, they remain that way, crying until all the tears are gone, until they can stand without the other's support. As Harry slips out, he whispers a soft thank you in Hagrid's direction.

As he walks to the dormitories, the eerie sensation of being watched penetrates his senses. A glance around proves nothing is following him, but the youth remains suspicious.

  
  


* * * 

  
  


He flitted through the wall rapidly, barely avoiding being seen by the youth....


	11. The Door in the Wall

The exhausted youth breathes slowly, carefully, avoiding the sharp pains he felt in his chest every time air was taken in quickly. Black rimmed eyes drooped close as he snatched much needed sleep, rest he could never find in the night.

_The hammer fell down upon the sword for the final time, completing its keen edge. Quickly, while the blade was still red hot, he ran his thumb down the edge, coating it in a thick red line of blood. Raising the artifact above his head, he chanted the final words to the spell._

_"By thy hand I forged thee, by thy blood I bound thee, by thy name I call thee!"_

_To outward appearances , nothing happened, but he could feel the power surging through his body, into the sword. His senses had never been so acute. He could feel the power transferring from his hands to the hilt, feel the cut on his hand heal in an instant, feel the chill of cold steel..._

The boy woke slowly, bewildered by his vision. He shifted slightly as he thought, mainly to relieve the ache in his arms. Ron moved his fingers to keep them from going numb - and froze.

There was something in his hand. Something cold. And hard. And suspiciously like the-

**-Of course I am, boy! What did you expect, the Staff?-**

"Wh-o? Wha-?"

**-Don't talk out loud! Just Send your thought to me.-**

**_-U-um, o-ok. Wh-what are you?-_**

**-The Sword. What else?-**

**_-The...Sword-_**

**-Yes, yes. Now, you seem to be in a bit of a predicament. If you allow me, I can get you out of it.-**

Ron lost all caution, so desperate was he to escape the hellhole.

**_-Yes! Yes, get me out of here!-_**

**-It's going to hurt though. I came to you prematurely and you aren't ready for my full potential, but you need it right now, so I'll use it if you want me to. But it's going to hurt.-**

**_-I don't care! If I stay here, I'm going to hurt more!-_**

**-I doubt that, but at least you will be in good hands if I do. Well, here goes...-**

Pain filled the youth instantly, total and searing. It was pain beyond Crucio, beyond even feeling. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. So much was his agony that he completely missed the Door opening in front of him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Harry looked at his schedule and groaned.

"Potions, first class of the year. Damn. And Defense with the new professor after that. What was her name again, 'Mione?"

"Professor Hanrahan. And if you ask me, she looks familiar. Can't place my finger on it though."

"I don't think so. Unless its from a scholar to scholar point of view. That would account for...for why..."

He trailed off as the breakfast crowd abruptly went quiet. Hermione was staring with wide eyes at a spot behind him. So was everyone else, for that that matter. 

The boy turned around slowly, his breath catching in his throat ashe caught sight of what had made everyone else speechless. There, where the door to the Great Hall should have been, was a window of sorts. Through it, an empty room could clearly be perceived. In the center of the room sat a figure outlined in gold, clearly in pain. His mouth was open in a silent scream, every muscle in his body was straining against bonds that held him to the chair, sweat was dripping from his red hair...

Red hair....

**_"RON!"_**

Harry leaped from his seat, dashing towards the scene. He wondered, hoped that it wasn't just a scene, but an actual opening...

**-Of course it is, by Merlin's Ring! Haven't you ever seen a Door?!?!? Hurry it up, I can't hold it forever!-**

The youth didn't stop to wonder at the voice in his head, he just moved. Grasping his wand in one hand, he yelled out the first spell that came to mind.

"_Accio chair!"_

The chair his companion was on flew towards him, taking Ron with it. As soon as he was past the threshold, the Door vanished, the Great Hall door reappearing. Harry ignored that though, shoving his way through the crowd towards his friend. Hermione was already there, fumbling at the knots that held an unconscious Ron to the seat. Wordlessly, Harry dug through his pockets to find the knife Sirius had given him the Christmas before and handed it to her. As soon as she slashed through the ropes, Ron slumped forward, revealing a heavily bruised chest and bloody wrists, along with various cuts on his torso. Despite the dried blood on his hands, he held a sword in his right hand, one he wouldn't let go even in his unconscious state. Professor Dumbledore appeared at that moment, conjuring the battered form onto a stretcher. 

"Harry, Hermione, and the Weasley students, please accompany me to the Hospital Wing. All others resume normal activities."

With no further ado, he strode quickly away with Ron following him, the named studens following in his wake. 

  
  
  
  



	12. Defense Against the Dark Arts

Harry stood motionless by the hospital bed of his friend, emerald eyes staring not at the battered form but past it. The three Weasley kids stood in a loose semicircle around the end of the bed, with Hermione resided on his other side. She was holding Ron's left hand carefully, avoiding the wrist, where the wire had bit deeply into the youth's flesh.

The other hand had the sword in it. No one had been able to pry the blade from the right hand of the unconscious boy's hand and so it had been left there. It seemed right.

The only sounds in the room were Ron's rattling breath and Madam Pomfrey bustling about. She had already bandaged his broken ribs and was currently working on his lacerations, which were visibly healing before everyone's eyes. 

As the nurse was doing that, Harry's gaze slipped to the sword. Both he and Dumbledore had recognized it as the blade he had used a couple of years ago in the Chamber of Secrets. How it had found its way into Ron's hand, the youth couldn't fathom. Dumbledore obviously had, though and had gone to his office the moment he was sure Ron was going to be fine. There was something of great importance of his friend's possession of the sword.

The youth chose that moment to stir. Smiling at his friends and family, he went into a real sleep almost instantly, the first time in months. Quietly, the elated visitors crept out of the Hospital Wing.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Harry walked into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom halfway through the period, light hearted for the first time in two months. Hermione beside him seemed to feel much the same way, a spring returning to her step that Harry had only now realized was missing. Who wouldn't be relieved? Their best friend was awake and alert as of a few minutes ago. Madam Pomfrey had determined that he would be fine with only a week spent in her care. On top of that, the two had gotten to miss their first Potions lesson of the year.

"I'm glad you two decided to join us."

A cold voice broke through Harry's euphoria as the new professor's slate grey eyes stared penetratingly at the two tardy students. As they moved from Hermione toHarry, they seemed to expand with surprise before narrowing and becoming colder than before.

"Mr. Potter, Miss..."

"Hermione Granger, Professor Hanrahan."

"Miss Granger, if you will take a seat, we will continue the lesson you so rudely interrupted. Please see me after class."

Harry gaped at the unfairness of it, speaking out in protest before he could stop himself. 

"B-but-"

"There are no buts in this matter, young man. Take a seat."

The two sat down abruptly in the nearest seats. As soon as they had done so, the winsome professor began her lecture, picking up where she had left off.

"Many groups have been formed over the ages to fight the Dark Arts, as I was saying before. They were usually bound by a combination of magic, comradeship, and trust. Sometimes the members were chosen by mortal me, and sometimes they are picked by magical artifacts. The Goblet of Fire is a prime example. Upon entering the names of the entrants into the Goblet, it chooses those most suitable to the task at hand. I know it is your first day, but I will be assigning a project to you today. However, it will not be due until three weeks from today, which should give you plenty of time to research your topic. Four feet of parchment are required. Please come forward and choose your topic."

Harry groaned inwardly, but beside him, Hermione brightened and dashed forward, the first in line. The boy followed at a more sedate place and chose the most vague topic on the list, something called the Prophecy of the Chosen. Hermione brightly told him as he returned to his seat all about her topic, the Order of Merlin, despite the fact that she hadn't even researched it yet.

"I've read all about it Harry, since I knew Professor Dumbledore had the Order of Merlin, First Class. It's not only an award, you know. Merlin was a great wizard around a thousand years ago. In fact he was the one who trained the four founders, did you know that? I found that out in Before Hogwarts, written by one of the first students. Merlin was the one who united the four. He helped invent the spell that formed the sword, you know. Anyways, I'm sure I'll find more about him as I research. What did you get?"

The youth jerked back to reality, having tuned out his companion's speech. Looking at the paper where he had written down the topic, he read it off to the girl. She frowned.

"You know, you should have chosen something more specific."

"I'll be ok, Hermione. Besides, Ron is going to have to do this too, and he might choose something more to your liking."

"Well, true. I-"

"Miss Granger, Mr. _Potter_, please come up to my desk. The rest of class is dismissed."

The two warily made their way up to the young professor, unsure of how to speak to her.

"Do you have a reason for your tardiness?"

Harry began to explain.

"This morning, in the Great Hall, you know the-the-the um..."

The woman glared at him.

"Miss Granger, perhaps you can explain your thoughts a bit more coherently than Harry."

It seemed to the boy that she almost spat out his name, but not quite. It was a bit unfair over all. She seemed to be holding a grudge against him, and he had no idea why.

"Yes, Professor Hanrahan. The boy who was pulled through the Door this morning, tied to the chair is our best friend. Dumbledore excused us from class in order to make sure he'd be ok."

At the mention of the Headmaster, her sterling silver eyes grew full of respect and she nodded reluctantly, giving a warmer glance to the femme. Another glance was aimed at Harry, but it not only had considerably less warmth, but was simmering with resentment.

"Very well then. Please take news of my assignment to your friend - Ronald Weasley, is it? And he is ok?"

"He will be, Professor."

"Good. I should like to speak to him about his experiences. You may go now."

The companions left quickly, relieved to be let off the hook, even if it wasn't fair that they had been in trouble in the first place.

"Hermione, was it just me, or did she seem to....Oh, I don't know...Resent me, I guess."

Hermione pursed her lips, thinking a bit. Slowly, and a bit reluctantly, she nodded her bushy curls.

"It did seem so. But why, Harry?"

"I wish I knew."

  
  
  
  


_(Author's Note: This fic WILL be finished, if only so I know what happened. Yes, it might take a while, but I have been working on it a bit more lately so hopefully the chapters should start coming out a bit quicker. But not yet though, because May is the busiest month of the year for me. Don't expect another chapter until June, and you might be pleasantly surprised. Oh yes, and I know the length of the chapters are short, but its all I can manage before I get stuck)_


	13. Reunion

It was very boring, really. Despite the fact that he was now relatively famous and should be getting lots of attention, the youth was now secluded in the Hospital Wing with only th exercise of trying to breathe without pain for entertainment. Slowly, he drew in another breath, concentrating on not wincing when the sharp pain from his broken ribs lanced through his body. It was very hard, but since he had nothing else to do-

-**I could heal that for you, you know.-**

**_-No! You've already caused me enough pain with your tricks!-_**

**-It wasn't a trick, and you ASKED for it, boy. Would you rather still be there?-**

**_-No, but you could have done something less painful!-_**

**-That was the only thing I could do, and had you not been foolish and gotten yourself kidnapped in the first place, I would have come to you prematurely, you would have been ready for me, and it wouldn't have hurt!-**

**_-Ready for you? What is that supposed to mean?-_**

The sword - well, he thought it was a sword, but everytime it talked to him he got a different image, one of a man in antique clothes who looked a lot like...well, nevermind - went suddenly silent, as if it didn't want to talk about that. A grimace was planted on Ron's face. This wasn't the first time it had done this. He wished the thing would just tell him what it was he was supposed to be ready for.

Molly and Arthur burst in at that moment, her face covered in tears, his in a grin. His mother immediately snatched him into a hug, bringing involuntary tears to his eyes, and causing him to yelp in pain. Immediately she jumped back and pulled her arms to herself, as if afraid to touch him for fear he might break. Starting to laugh - oooo, that hurt! - the youth stopped himself, then grinned at her while wiping the streams from his face.

"I'm hurt, Mum, but I'm not breakable. I just cracked a couple of ribs."

A hesitant smile lights her face, but she still keeps her hands to herself until he reaches out a hand to her. Regarding the bandages wrapped around the wrist carefully for a moment, she finally snatches it, but holds it carefully, like an egg.

"Well, Ron. It's wonderful to see you a-."

Wincing, the older man cuts off. Ron winces, knowing what he was about to say. Alive. They were glad he was alive. So was he, for that matter. He couldn't blame them for giving up hope. He had. The dreams, the ones with Harry in them, when he told his friend that he was going to die, he had believed his own words. He had believed that there was no hope, that it was him or Harry. The youth had decided to make sure it was he that was the sacrifice for society. Smiling, the boy looked up into his father's eyes.

"It's wonderful to be alive."

His mother let loose a sob, but it was one of happiness, relief flooding her as she knew her baby boy was all right. 

**-A touching family moment, I'm sure, but you have a visitor. Dumbledore's approaching-**

Scowling at the chunk of metal that now lay upon the table beside him, he spoke again, his voice cracking with pent up emotion.

"Mum, Dad...Professor Dumbledore's coming right now. If you want to...."

Immediately Arthur Weasley wiped away the tears that had fallen from his eyes and carefully disengaged his wife's hand from his son's. The Professor chose that moment to enter. The dancing blue lights seemed more relieved than anything, as they danced across the family, but his voice was merry as it emitted from within the depths of his snow white beard.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, I am extremely happy for you...happy for all of us, indeed. It is not often that one escapes the clutches of Voldemort intact, but your son seems very...lucky....in that. But I mean to speak to Ron about his so called luck, so if you would excuse us for a moment..."

The red headed man nodded and guided his wife from the room. Dumbledore turned his face towards the male in the hospital bed, and though his eyes were serious now, they were proud too.

"Well, Ron, it seems that you have defied all odds."

"Yes it does, sir."

"Oh, don't call me sir. It makes one feel old, as you will realize eventually. Have you figured out why you are so...lucky."

Reluctantly, the youth replied.

"Well....This may sound crazy...but it was the sword."

Encouraged by the old man's nod, Ron rushed on.

"It...talked to me, sort of. And then it did something to get me back here, and all that I remember is that it hurt more than all the Crucios that Voldemort did on me, put together. I don't know what it did, but the next thing I knew, I woke up here."

**-I made a Door, Albus-**

Dumbledore jumped, and for the first time in his life, Ron saw him look surprised. The professor gave a sharp look to the youth and began muttering furiously to himself.

"It is even more than I suspected. I must check the Prophecy again."

**-What you guess is correct, Dumbledore-**

The grizzled head nodded and blue eyes find the boy's. 

"You are very special, indeed, Ron."


	14. The Damage Is Deeper Than You Think

A week later, the lanky form limped slowly through the portrait filled halls. Despite the benign smiles the paintings were giving him, he couldn't help but feel resentment at the lack of his companionship. The day Madam Pomfrey _finally_ released him from her care and not even his friends showed up to see him back to the tower. Great. Just great.

He walked slowly, carefully, mindful not to jar his ribs too hard. They were still a bit sensitive because they had to heal the normal way. When he'd asked the nurse why, she'd gone into a long, technical explanation, but Ron managed to sort out that they had been cracked for so long that they had begun to heal on their own, thus preventing magic from affecting it. Why it mattered, he still couldn't figure out, but that was why he wasn't planning on going into the magical medical field.

The youth had been relieved to get into his _own_ clothes again, ones that were clean and untorn, though patched here and there. The ones he'd arrived in were completely ruined by rips and bloodstains, and even if they hadn't been, he wasn't sure if he really would want to wear them again. Bad association and all that.

A new addition to his wardrobe hung by his side. Frankly, he wasn't sure if he really wanted the sword of Gryffindor, but as soon as the Headmaster had given him a plain leather sheath, he'd seen that there was no choice in the matter.

**-Damn right there's no choice. You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not-**

**_-Why me? Why not Harry? He's certainly had everything fall into his lap, why not this too?-_**

**-Because Harry's not you!-**

Well, you can see why Ron wasn't particularly enthusiastic about his new....er....companion.

Finally, the student reached the Fat Lady, mumbling the password Dumbledore had given him. She swung open and he shuffled in, running a hand through his hair (good lord, he needed a hair cut) as he entered the common room - and froze.

A huge sign displaying the words 'WELCOME HOME, RON!' flashed red and gold, a painting of himself in his Weasley sweater grinning and waving at him. It was obviously Dean's work, but that wasn't the only thing that astounded him. The room was FULL of people grinning at him, cheering for him, clapping for him. For him. He gaped, jaw slack, eyes wide with surprise.

Something hurtled into him and he broke from his daze to look down at Ginny. Hermione wasn't far behind and Harry came over too, slinging an arm across his shoulder. Pointing to a corner of the room where the twins were waiting, he yelled loud enough for Ron to hear him over the clamor.

"Fred and George er...._made_ a cake for you! I'd be careful before you eat it though - you might turn into a frog!"

"Either that or a toad, right Harry?!?"

The two companions grinned at each other and the sword-bearer disentagled himself from his sibling's attentions so the four could adjourn to the food. A very enjoyable party followed, and Ron was able to get to sleep that night with a grin on his face.

* * *

The next day signaled a return to normal ways for Harry. He could now walk down the corridors with both of his best friends beside him, laughing and talking without having to worry if one of them was going to die soon. In fact, the only thing that marred his good mood was the fact that it was Monday, which meant their first session of Potions and a second helping of Hanrahan.

Snape was in his usual foul mood.

"_Some_ of us went on about our lives last Monday. _Some _of us were present for the demonstration of the effects of drovel on various fungi. Those who were _here_ may now continue to experiment - _cautiously," _He glanced sharply at Neville. "on our own. Those of you who were _not _here- I expect a 3 foot scroll on those previously mentioned effects on my desk by tommorrow afternoon."

Harry was about to protest, but Hermione elbowed him sharply and he acquiesed grudginly. When the bell rang, he's only completed about an inch of the scroll from the information in the text book and it didn't look like Ron or Hermione had done any better.

At lunch, Ron ate what seemed like a meal for eight, but Harry only picked at his food, nervous about their next class for no apparent reason. 

"Harry, I just don't understand how the Professor can make you so nervous! She's alright, she really is, even if she does have some odd grudge against you. Besides, she's obviously not another Quirrell or Lockhart," Hermione told him.

"How do you kn-," Harry began.

"Oh look, there's the Daily Prophet!" Hermione interrupted. Swiftly, she unrolled the paper and started. "Ron there's something here about you!"

"What? Where?"

"Listen to this: _While the kidnapped Ronald Weasley has been recovered and is apparently alright, details of his captors are not yet clear. The boy claims that it was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named who held him, but it was obvious he was delirious and in no position to judge who he was imprisoned by. Authorities are looking into the case, as well as how he escaped their grasp._"

"What!?!?! I may have been in pain, but I was _not_ delirious! I may not know _why_ they kidnapped me, but I most certainly know who!"

"There's more: _"'There is no indication that You-Know-Who has returned, and indeed, the possibility is incredibly remote. The Weasley boy must have been suffering from delusions - after all, it was quite obvious that he had been tortured,' states Cornelius Fudge after asked about the situation._

_Ronald Weasley could not be reached for statements."_

The two boys stared at utter disbelief at the picture of Fudge blinking gravely on the front page.

"I _cannot_ believe him! How much more evidence can he possibly need?!?" Harry's outburst was heard several tables down and a few people stopped eating to stare at him, but he ignored their looks.

"Calm down, Harry. We all know Fudge is off his rocker for denying Voldemort's return," Ron paused at the other two's disbelieving stares and then went on, a bit annoyed. "What, you think that I'm still hesitant to say his name? Come on, the fact that I've been _tortured,_ by the guy makes me a bit less willing to give him any edge over me."

"That's good th-," Harry started.

"OH MY GOSH, we are going to be late!" exclaimed Hermione.

The three dashed through the halls, Harry shooting an annoyed look at Hermione at being interrupted yet again. Nevertheless, she was right. They were almost late, but managed to slip into their desks a moment before the Professor entered.

"Today I will be evaluating you on your previous education. I expect to see you successfully complete a Shrinking Potion, a Summoning Charm, a Banishment, and to tell the difference between a sprout of Wolfsbane and Dragonella. We will not finish everyone today, but we will complete everyone next time. Don't forget, your research on magical groups is due two weeks from today. We will begin from the end of the alphabet. Blaise Zabini."

As the Slytherin did his evaluation, the trio conferred on the project. 

"What project? What do we have to do?" Ron questioned Hermione, slightly panicked.

As Hermione explained the research paper to him, Harry let his mind wander. Ron still had the sword belted to his waist, he noticed. He wasn't sure why, but his friend moved as if were a part of him, unconsciously resting his hand on the hilt when he wasn't thinking. 

**-That's because he was born to it-**

Harry bit his tongue, he was so surprised. This was the voice that had spoken to him last week, that had told him about the...er...Door. 

**-So startled? Better get used to it-**

"Ron Weasley!"

**-Uh oh. This is not going to be good-**

**_-Wh-why?-_**

Whoever - or whatever - didn't deign to give a reply to Harry. He watched as Ron's brow furrowed and as his hand tightened around the hilt, but he sat down in front of Professor Hanrahan with little trepidation. It was obvious she was giving him no allowances for his previous adventures, though. He was given the ingredients for the potion with the same brisk efficiency that the teacher had offered them to Zabini. If he seemed a bit preoccupied while concocting the potion, well, it came out alright, which was what was needed.

Harry continued watching as Hanrahan motioned for him to perform a Summoning Charm. His friend pulled his wand from his sleeve while shooting a frown at the blade hanging at his side. Performing the neccessary movement, Ron muttered the incantation - then yelled and collapsed to hands and knees.

* * *

  
  


**-Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it! You're not Healed yet!-**

**_-What are you talking about?!? Of course I'm Healed!-_**

**-You CANNOT do this, you're not ready!-**

**_-I learned all of this last year, and third and econd and first year! Of COURSE I'm ready! I'm doing it, and that it THAT!-_**

Shutting the blade out of his mind, Ron brewed the potion successfully. Smug in his victory, he reached for his wand.

**-DON'T DO IT!-**

Frowning at the sword, he ignored i'ts so-called advice. Sweep and aim and-

_"Accio chair!"_

Pain, pain burning, through his brain, through his blood through his veins! White-hot fire scorching, searing, tearing him apart, rending him, incinerating him- With a yell of shock, the youth dropped to hands and knees. Pain, gods, the pain- and then it was gone

**-I told you so-**


	15. Channels

Ron drew in deep, ragged breaths, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. An ache remained, a dull burning sensation that faded with every passing moment. Slowly, deciding he was physically alright, he sat back on his haunches. Dimly, he heard a fight break out, and Professor Hanrahan went from trying to see if he was ok to breaking up the fight.

"Ha, Weasley collapsed! Shows how much he's good for, if he can't even manage a simple Summoning Charm without fainting!"

"Shut up! I doubt you'd be in as good condition if _you'd_ been in his position all summer! Oh, I forgot, you were in on it, weren't you?"

A scuffling sound ensued, punctuated by the crashing of chairs and desks. 

"Mr. Malfoy, _Mr. Potter_! You will report to me immediately after class! Hermione, if you would assist Ron to the Hospital Wing? I doubt that Madam Pomfrey will be excited to see him after discharging him this morning, but this may be no trivial thing."

Ron shook his head dully, trying to think through the fog of shock. He felt his arm draped over a pair of shoulders and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. Feeling Hermione stagger under his weight, the youth shook himself a bit more awake and managed to force his legs to support himself a bit better. 

As soon as they had exited the classroom, the girl queried her companion.

"Ron, what happened? I mean, it looked like you were doing everything right, but the moment you said the words to the spell, you just....collapsed! It certainly startled us all, I can tell you, with that scream. As soon as you dropped your wand, you seemed ok, though."

"My wand! Did I leave it in the classroom?"

"No, I picked it up. Here you are."

With her free hand, she pressed the stick into his hand, but as soon as his fingers touched the polished surface, the burning sensation began again, though mild. Gasping in surprise, he dropped it again. Hermione looked at him with astonishment. Carefully withdrawing her support, she picked it up warily, this time remaining in custody of it.

"What was that for?"

"It hurt to touch it! It...it burned!"

"What?"

She picked up the hand he'd grabbed it with, but he pulled it away.

"No, it didn't burn, it _burned_."

Vaguely, he gestured to his head. Ron couldn't really describe it, just that it wasn't his hand, or his head, or really anywhere else. It was just a sensation. Hermione shook her curls in bewilderment.

"Why don't we just get you to Madam Pomfrey's?"

A few minutes later Ron stepped shakily into the infirmary.

"Ronald Weasley! I just dismissed you! What can possibly be wrong with you now?"

The boy gestured to the wand.

"It burned me. But not on my skin. Inside of me, but not inside of me. It just burned!"

**-Damn right it did-**

The nurse started, looking wildly around.

**-I'm the sword. And it burned because his channels are burned-**

The woman lost her look of confusion and nodded gravely. Turning to a sheet of paper, she scribbled a hurried message and pulled her wand out. Ron watched closely, because he had never seen Madam Pomfrey use magic. She muttered an incantation that Ron didn't catch and the sheet folded itself into an airplane and flew itself out of the room.

"We can only wait now."

  
  


* * *

  
  


Draco had gone pale with fury when Harry mentioned Ron's summer and hadn't wasted any breath on a retort. Leaping for the black haired boy, the blond had knocked him to the ground before Harry could work in a punch. Within moments, it was a full fledged fight, with Draco slamming Harry's head into a desk while Harry tried to choke him.

"Mr. Malfoy, _Mr. Potter_!"

Damn.

"You will report to me immediately after class! Hermione, if you would assist Ron to the Hospital Wing? I doubt that Madam Pomfrey will be excited to see him after discharging him this morning, but this may be no trivial thing."

Well, that's Ron taken care of, thought Harry. But why do I think that detention is not going to be fun?

Sure enough, the woman fixed him with a furious stare after she had assigned Draco his punishment.

"What do you propose I do with you, Harry?"

Let me go, he thought. He didn't say that.

Those grey eyes bored into him, utterly cold and familiar. Why were they so familiar?

"You will report to me at nine o'clock tonight. The layer of gum under the desks is intolerable, and you will see to it that every wad is removed - without magic."

With that, those sterling eyes focused upon her desk again, a clear dismissal on the part of the teacher. Harry was sorely tempted to stick his tongue out, but something warned him not to, so he satisfied his temper by slamming the door to the classroom shut instead. 

At least classes are over for today, he thought. Heading to the Hospital Wing, the boy nearly collided with the Headmaster as he turned a corner, stopping himself just in time.

"Oh! Professor Dumbledore!"

"Ah yes, Harry. I was just hoping I'd run into you." The cerulean eyes twinkled with merriment. "If you would come with me?"

"Er, yes sir."

The two continued walking in silence, though not uncomfortable. To Harry, the headmaster seemed a bit preoccupied, but he said nothing to Harry. They entered the infirmary together, where Madam Pomfrey immediately pulled Dumbledore aside. Before she could say anything, however, that voice filled Harry's mind once more, and by the looks of it, the minds of everyone else as well.

**-Dumbledore, I ah....well, I burned his channels out-**

The elder nodder gravely.

"That may indeed be a problem. How far?"

**-Oh, they'll be fine when they heal up. I didn't ruin them, but well....They're as open as far as they could ever possibly be-**

Dumbledore suddenly looked both very relieved and very concerned. Staring for a moment at Ron, the lanky redhead began to squirm a bit, uncomfortable under the penetrating gaze. Finally, the professor spoke.

"Well, Ron. You are about to become more special than you have ever dreamed."

  
  


* * *

  
  


Ron watched the Headmaster warily.

"Special? Why am I getting the feeling that this special might not be particularly good?"

The old man smiled, a familiar gleam in his eyes.

"It is no bad thing, Ron. You see, all people are born with something we call channels. A good comparison would be tunnels running through your mind. In most people, these tunnels are closed, blocked off, and they never open. Wizards and witches, however, are born with most channels partially open. In some, those of Transfiguration are very wide while their Charms or Potions is very small. This is how some become very talented at Quidditch or work particularly well with magical creatures. No one can tell which channels are open wide and which have only a narrow aperture until those particular talents are displayed. Also, an opening will likely open wider in the course of maturity."

**-I told him he wasn't ready-**

Hermione, Harry, and Madam Pomfrey all started, as if they'd forgotten there was another member to their conversation. Ron frowned.

"I remember that. What did you mean, ready?"

**-You have...er, had a huge potential for magical energy. But your channels hadn't opened all the way for you yet. It will...would have been a few more years before your magical level had matured fully. By then, you were supposed to be ready for me, but the situation was too dire for me to wait-**

This of course, had the effect of leaving everyone but Dumbledore more confused than before.

"Ready for me?"

**-I didn't say anything about you being ready for me-**

There was a definite disgruntled tone to its "voice", as if it had let something slip he hadn't meant to.

"Yes, you did."

**-No I didn't-**

" Harry heard you, didn't you, Harry?"

**-No he didn't-**

The boy gave up - obviously, the blade had decided to be stubborn.

"Ahem"

Everyone turned their attention onto Dumbledore again.

"The point is, Ron, Go- the sword came to you before you would have been capable of handling its magical abilities. In order to help you escape from clutches which - I shall put this bluntly - you would not have otherwise escaped from, the sword was forced to open a Door. But, he had to do it _through_ you. I other words, he- it used your powers to open the Door. By its fully developed channels, it had enough power to do so. Since you had the potential, it was possible for you as well. In doing so, however, he forced your channels to open up fully, rather than allowing them to open normally. This is what we call burning channels out."

"So I'm....burned out."

"Yes."

Hermione interjected, brow furrowing.

"Professor....What is a Door?"

"A what?"

"A Door?"

"A door, my dear is an opening and closing object between rooms000."

Hermione gave up. Obviously, the headmaster had decided to play the same game as the sword.

"Is that why it hurts?"

"Yes, but it will go away after a while...It's just like a normal burn. For now, simply refrain from as much magic as possible and from touching objects such as your wand. Oh, and when you start again, please be careful not to overdo any spell. You are much more powerful than you were before."

Ron blinked. Harry grinned at him.

"Well Ron, now _you _finally have some fame." 

Ron just sighed. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
